


Driven

by Chya



Category: CI5: The New Professionals
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-12-30
Updated: 1999-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chya/pseuds/Chya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strange drugs in motor racing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Driven

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Brenda for editing :o) Some time ago I said I started writing fic when I didn't like an episode of a program and wanted to make it better. Well, I didn't like High Speed, cuz there wasn't a scratch on the cars. So this is what I wrote. There's nothing in it that you wouldn't find in an ep, and it's not particularly better than High Speed. But I had fun with it.

Jack Wilkinson terminated the call with shaking hands and closed his eyes, leaning tiredly against the wall.

He felt as though he were being ripped apart, and was terrified of the consequences of both his actions and his inaction.

*****

Dean Grey sat at his desk, a briefcase open in front of him and a dazed expression on his face.

Another accident: Easton had broken his leg. The Committee would be down on him like a ton of bricks. He desperately needed to get things under control as he couldn't bear to lose his job.

*****

Gil Milland stared at the passport in front of him. He had received it in the morning's post, along with a demand. He had thought that the owner of the passport, one Alexis Drijka, was safely buried in his past. Apparently not.

He had his suspicions and he would get the bastard who was behind this, if was the last thing he did.

*****

Giacomo Biarritza eased past the other car, oblivious to the fact that his move had forced his opponent to go onto the grass. His whole being focussed on the chequered flag ahead.

He floored the accelerator, determined to win, and obsessed with the need to prove that he and his car were still the best. The instant he hit the finishing line, a flash of victorious adrenaline hit him, and he knew it wasn't enough. He had to keep going, keep proving that he was the best on the track. He kept the accelerator down, forcing the car ever faster, looking for another rush of adrenaline, bigger and better than the last.

His vision blurred, and he shook his head, ignoring it. But still he did not let up. He knew this track like the back of his hand, and was expecting the right hand turn coming up. But he could not bring himself to slow down. At the last moment, as the track swung away from his trajectory, he braked. Too hard, and too late.

He got his last big adrenaline rush as the wall came careening at him, and was laughing wildly when both he and his car shattered.

*****

"Gentlemen," Malone acknowledged Curtis and Keel as they entered his office. "What do you know about Detro Violorin 8?"

"Never heard of it," shrugged Curtis, and Keel echoed him with a short shake of his head.

"Detro Violorin 8, also known as DV8." Malone raised an eyebrow, daring either agent to make a facetious comment. When none was forthcoming, he continued. "DV8 is the newest of many such drugs that have been developed. It increases a person's stamina and pain threshold, heightens awareness, and increases their determination to win."

"Just like any other drug that's not supposed to be used in sports," Curtis said cynically, "So why are we involved?"

"This particular drug, Mr Curtis, is extreme in its power to make a man do anything, and I mean anything, to accomplish his goal. If an individual is given enough, he will even keep going beyond that goal until he self-destructs. That is, unless they are given the antidote. In that case, they recover unimpaired but after some confusion. The potential military applications are quite frightening."

"I can see that," Keel nodded. "So you want us to trace the source?"

"We already have the scientist that created it," Malone frowned at the interruption. "And no more will be made, but a rather large quantity is out there in the hands of a distributor. Unfortunately, the doctor was unable to tell us who the distributor is; he died of an overdose of his own drug."

"What have we got to go on?" asked Sam.

"From notes retrieved from the doctor's desk, we know that DV8 is being either tested, or demonstrated, using racing drivers. Drivers in Formula CX to be exact. There has been a massive increase in the number of accidents recently. You may have seen in the news that one of the top drivers, Giacomo Biarritza, was involved in a fatal crash at the weekend? DV8 was found in his blood. You will both be going undercover and joining the Black Arrows team. You Mr Keel, will be a driver and Mr Curtis will be an executive assistant to Mr Jack Wilkinson. Miss Backus is currently researching all the personnel, and will contact you later today."

"Why do I feel a sense of déjà vu?" Sam wondered aloud, as Chris, who had been somewhat subdued, suddenly brightened up.

"Mr Keel, these cars are somewhat more expensive than the last one you drove, so please try to be careful."

Chris couldn't keep the wide grin from his face. "No problem, sir, when do we go?"

"The team are expecting you this afternoon. You both should be aware that you, Mr Keel, are replacing Giacomo Biarritza."

"Nice," grimaced Chris. "Nothing like stepping into dead men's shoes."

Malone continued, ignoring the interruption. "The team manager, Jack Wilkinson, and the track manager, Dean Grey, are the only ones who know who you both are, and why you are there; they had to be informed in order to get you in.

*****

"But I've worked my arse off for this drive!" Sonny Banks cried. "You promised!"

"I'm sorry, Sonny," Jack tried to calm the outraged driver. "But it just isn't your time, yet."

"And I'm still playing second fiddle. It's one thing to be crawling behind a damned good driver like Biarritza, Jack, but I'm not crawling to an unknown upstart with no time on the track." Banks was bitter, and Wilkinson could not help but feel sympathy for the man.

"Sonny, if anything should happen to Keel, you'll be in the hot seat, I promise."

"Just like you promised that I'd replace Biarritza? Right." Sonny stormed away, and Jack looked after the retreating back with some anger. Damn CI5.

*****

At the track, Sam and Chris made their way to the garages, but as they rounded a corner, Chris walked straight into another body. A tall, leggy brunette went flying, the reports in her hand cascading to the floor.

"Hey, I'm sorry!" Chris bent down to help her pick the papers up. "Are you okay?" he asked, staring daggers at Sam who was unsuccessfully trying to hold back his laughter.

"No thanks to you," snapped the woman. "Why can't you men watch where you're going?" She continued muttering as she picked up papers.

"I am sorry, okay?" he put the papers in her hands, "I was too busy

listening to him gabbing away," he indicated Sam with a nod. "I'm Chris

Keel," he held his hand out.

"How nice for you," she snapped, and pushed past them both.

"Down in flames!" laughed Sam.

Chris grimaced, "I was only trying to apologise, it's not my fault she's got some sort of a chip on her shoulder."

Sam slapped his partner on the back, "Sorry Chris, there's no use trying to deny it; you simply don't have the Curtis charm."

"I wouldn't want it, thank you, I've seen some of the dogs you take home at night."

"Jealousy doesn't become you, old chum." Sam grinned.

A tall stocky man approached them and introduced himself as Jack Watkinson. He gave them a quick briefing, explaining the set-up of the team, and introducing them to the key members including both the head mechanic and the test driver, Simon 'Sonny' Banks. Banks only scowled at Keel, but was friendly towards Curtis, welcoming him to the team before Jack motioned them all to get back to work.

"Right, well, Mr Curtis, you're with me, you'll be pretty much my gopher, I'm afraid, but it'll give you plenty of opportunity to look around, or whatever it is you have to do. My regular assistant's on holiday, and the only rule I have is hers – don't mess up her filing under pain of castration."

Curtis and Keel both laughed politely, "Call me Sam," said Curtis, "And he's Chris."

"Right. Chris, you're straight in the deep end. The Crimson Daggers' driver, Easton, broke his leg in testing a few days ago– "

"There seem to be an awful lot of accidents around here," Chris interrupted, "I didn't think motor racing had that high an incident rate."

Jack sighed, "It doesn't, and I hope that you when you find whatever this thing is that you're after, it'll put an end to these accidents. The Committee is thinking about closing us all down. One driver dead, and three in hospital..." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, the Daggers have agreed to a one on one – their test driver is taking the hot seat. Thirty laps should give you both a good shakedown. The car's ready when you are; so you'd better get changed." He pointed at a nearby door.

*****

He was not happy. He had not yet worked out the right dosage. He had given Biarritza too much, it seemed. He would try Selmeczi next, but he had to get it right before the race. His potential buyers would only give him the one chance.

*****

"You're friend's not a bad driver, you know," remarked Jack Wilkinson with some surprise as he examined the monitors. "Selmeczi's one of the best."

Sam looked at the monitor that Jack had indicated. Selmeczi's Crimson Dagger was only just ahead of his partner's black car.

"If Selmeczi's one of the best, why was he just the test driver?"

Jack laughed merrily, "You haven't met, have you? Selmeczi has a huge handicap in this game, but then again, the Daggers only ever employ the best, they have the money for it."

"Where does the money come from?"

"Big sponsors. They call themselves crimson, but their colours are scarlet."

Sam let that comment slide, not fully understanding, but resolved to get Backup to check them out. Jack suddenly swore.

"What's up?" The tone of Jack's voice instantly put Sam on the alert.

"Keel just missed a great opportunity to take Selmeczi. Amateur!" He pressed some keys, and the last corner the cars had taken sprang into replay. "See, here? Selmeczi took that corner too wide. An experienced driver would have jumped into that gap. Keel's fallen for the oldest trap in the book, and just followed the Dagger round."

"What do you mean, trap?" Sam asked.

"When you're following a car for any period of time, you kind of get hypnotised by the rear end of that car, and end up just following. You might have noticed it when you're motorway driving – a lot of accidents are caused by that. A very, very easy trap to fall into, even for experienced drivers." Jack sighed. "Well, at least he's better than I'd hoped for, but still."

*****

The tail end of the car in front was mesmerising and Chris found himself matching the pace of the bright red car, taking a corner wide, just as his opponent had. Blinking hard, he released the accelerator ever so slightly, moving to the side to break the spell. Then, as the next corner loomed, he braked late, the nose of his car just inches away from his opponent's rear end. As he hit the apex of the turn, he slammed on the gas, passing the other car on the inside.

Laughing inside his helmet as an adrenaline rush hit him, he willed the car even faster, getting ready to throw it into the next turn. In his mirrors the other car loomed large, desperate to reclaim its place.

He braked for the next turn, in fact a chicane, and twisted the wheel, trying to block his pursuer. Through the right-hand and into the left-hand corner. A sudden thump and his car spun out of control. He wrestled with the wheel as the concrete wall loomed large. An awful scraping told him that he had only just missed crashing into it.

He shifted into first and rammed the car forward to chase his opponent, now fishtailing from its own spin on the grass away down the track.

It took another two laps to get close enough to even contemplate overtaking, but down the pit straight, he had his chance, and began to sweep past, the two cars parallel down almost the entire straight. He had his nose just a fraction in front, and was on the inside for the next turn. He could just see another, green, car coming out of the pit lane, slightly ahead, but ignored it, confident that pit lane rules meant that the joining car would give way.

He was alarmed to find the nose of the red car inching closer to his left-hand side, and realised that his opponent meant to push him off the track. He refused to move, knowing the rules would not permit the other car to touch him. But suddenly dawning was the thought that those rules had not stopped his opponent from touching his car before.

He started to brake for the turn, late but hopefully enough to throw him ahead. Contact. His car spun wildly, and once again he fought for control, but to his dismay, the car that had joined the track was right behind him. He could do nothing as his front left wheel hit the other car's nose cone and the limited view of the world he had turned upside down.

*****

"No!" Sam yelled from his position in the garage. He saw everything on the monitors that littered the area, and the image of the three cars spinning, somersaulting and abruptly stopping galvanised him into action. He ran through the pits to that first corner, but Marshals stopped him from going any further.

The red car had merely spun, and even now was cruising slowly back on to the track, keeping carefully clear of the racing line as it made its way round the entire track back to the pits. The green and the black cars were not so lucky. The green car had had its rear wing sheared off and its nose crumpled by the flying black car and the driver could be heard yelling and shouting even through his helmet.

The black was mashed upside down on the grass; smoke pouring out of its rear end, eerily silent.

Marshals swarmed over both cars, covering them with foam where electrical fires were starting. Only when they were certain that the cars were safe did they let the St John Ambulance crews near. The red flags were brought out and the session was stopped as it became clear that both drivers would have to be cut out.

Sam felt a hand on his shoulder and turned round startled, to find a middle-aged man who was the epitome of mister average.

"Mr Curtis, isn't it? I'm the track manager, Dean Grey. I'm sorry about your friend. We've put Selmeczi in a room for you."

"I, ah, I need to maintain my cover. Two of my colleagues will be here to debrief him. I'll call them."

"I'll let you know when they arrive then," Grey paused. "They won't let you through there, so if I were you I'd go round to the back. The ambulance will go out that way, and you can see what's happening." Sam nodded, in a daze.

He went through the garages, taking time to call Backup and Spencer in.

He looked on in fascination as the nose cone of the green car was removed, and the driver's bloody legs were revealed where some kind of metal rod had pierced the skin.

The ambulance carrying the green driver passed Sam as they were still taking the black car apart, and a second ambulance pushed through onto the track, parking to obscure Sam's view.

Eventually, it made its way back, and stopped outside the back of the Arrows garage. Sam sprinted over, demanding to know how Keel was, but before he could be answered, the back doors opened, and a paramedic helped Chris Keel sit down on the back step.

"You – you – " Sam stuttered, relief washing over him at the sight of his apparently unharmed partner. "What the hell did you think you were doing," he yelled, "You could have been killed!"

"Nah," Chris drawled as he rubbed tiredly at the back of his neck, "That was just a little prang."

Sam was speechless, unsure whether to be angry or to laugh at his friend's flippancy. After a minute, he asked.

"You okay?"

"Sam, don't fuss," Chris complained, getting shakily to his feet.

"Is he okay?" Sam ignored him and asked the paramedic.

"He's fine," confirmed the medic. "Just shaken up. It takes a lot more than that to injure a driver these days. The other guy was just unlucky. Make sure he gets a hot, sweet drink and gets back in the driving seat ASAP."

The ambulance pulled away, leaving the pair of them standing on the tarmac. Jack came out and asked how Keel was, and on being assured that his driver was fine, nodded. "At least it wasn't your fault. You'll be okay to drive again, won't you?" At Chris' mute nod, he continued. "Right, get a drink, have a break, and I'll get the spare car set up for you. You should get back out there. Make sure you don't lose your nerve. Sam, you're with me."

"What about Selmeczi?" Chris demanded, anger beginning to overtake the shock.

"Taken care of, Chris, you go rest up," Sam replied.

"That's where Sam and I are going now; your colleagues have arrived."

"I'm coming too," Chris snapped, pushing his way through, but Jack pulled him back.

"No. You need to calm down and get back in a car. Let me deal with the Daggers; it's what I'm paid for."

Chris shook him off, and stalked away, beginning to seethe as he sought someone to take it out on.

*****

"That's Selmeczi?" Sam gawked as the driver was escorted to the room where Backup and Spencer were waiting. The crimson clad driver glared at him as she passed, long dark hair in disarray.

"Yep," said Jack, "Michaela Selmeczi, one of the best."

"Handicapped because...?"

"Well, isn't it obvious? This is a man's game."

"Oh."

"Grey will be here in a moment, but we're here as representatives of the injured team. I expect the Daggers' manager will be here – speak of the devil."

A short, slim man who bounced with energy walked right up to Jack, obviously livid.

"That was a dirty trick your driver pulled, Jack," he spat. "I agreed to a friendly shakedown in good faith!"

"I think you'll find Selmeczi was in the wrong, Gil," Jack was cool. "But why don't we see what the tapes say?"

Gil Milland clenched his jaw and abruptly stalked into the room.

Jack was about to usher Sam into the room as well, but was interrupted by the abrupt arrival of Chris.

"Where is he?" he demanded, and Sam, laughter in his eyes, pointed to Selmeczi. He was rewarded by his friend stopping in his tracks as he realised he had been racing the woman he had crashed into earlier. But not for long.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" he yelled at her. "You could have gotten us all killed!"

"Me?" Selmeczi yelled back, indignantly, "If you can't drive, don't get on the track! It's crazy amateurs like you that are dangerous!"

"You were the one that tried to shunt me out of the way! Couldn't stand the competition!" The two drivers were standing almost nose to nose.

"I did not! You were the one that rammed me!"

"Bull – !" Chris was suddenly hauled back by Sam, even as Milland pulled Selmeczi back.

Sam did not miss the hateful glares Jack and the Daggers' manager gave each other.

"We'll watch the video replays, shall we, children?" Grey took charge. "Now sit down, and shut up!"

Everyone sat as quickly as possible, the two drivers glaring at each other. But while Jack sat close to Chris, his hand on the American's shoulder radiating support, the Daggers' manager had his back to half-turned to Selmeczi, making it clear that she was on her own.

The videos played out, showing several camera angles and the red car could be clearly seen to touch the black car. All eyes turned to Selmeczi, who was gaping.

"No," she whispered, and then with more force, "No! That's not the way it happened! He rammed me! I did not do that!" she protested.

"I'm sorry, Michaela," Grey sounded bored. "As Johnson was hurt, you'll certainly be fined, and probably put on probation, but the details will be up to the Committee. You have a good history, though, so I don't expect it to be too drastic."

Selmeczi started to get up miserably, but Grey waved at her to sit down.

"Miss Backus and Mr Spencer would like a few words with you."

As the rest of them filtered out, Chris paused by Selmeczi. "Hey, I'm sorry I yelled at you. I mean, you really didn't know what you did, did you?"

"And so what?" she snapped through her misery. "You wanna take me out to make up? Forget it."

"Actually, no, I was just apologising, but if you don't want to accept that..." Chris shrugged and left the room.

Sam was about to follow him, when Gil Milland approached Jack, shrouded in a black cloud of anger.

"I know what your game is, Wilkinson, and I'll make you pay."

"You're insane, Milland. I have no idea what you're talking about." Jack tried to dismiss the shorter, stockier man.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, you bastard. Do your worst, you'll get no money from me."

"Money? But – " Jack stuttered as Milland spun on his heel and departed.

*****

Chris willed himself to calm down, still on edge as he headed back to the Arrows' garage.

Abruptly, he was spun around, and shoved face first against the wall.

"You bastard!" his assailant hissed, "You stole my ride!"

Chris restrained himself from retaliating physically as he recognised the voice of Sonny Banks. "I didn't steal anything; maybe you just aren't good enough."

The other man leaned forward so that his mouth was just millimetres from his ear, and Chris wrinkled his nose at the man's beer-laden breath.

"Jack said that if anything happens to you, I get my chance. I just got to be patient." Sonny spat.

"It'd probably help if you laid off the alcohol."

Chris grunted as the other man tried to grind him into the wall. "Shut up, yank."

Chris found himself shoved along the wall to collide with a rack of tyres. By the time he picked himself up, the other man had vanished.

*****

That evening, Chris and Sam found the Dog and Duck to be a small, lively pub, full to overflowing with mechanics, support staff and drivers from the track. Given the fierce competition, it was surprising to find that the teams mixed socially.

After ordering a drink, Chris found himself talking to one of the drivers who invited him to join them. He soon settled at a table with the three other drivers who were more than willing to gossip.

"Hard luck out there today," one of them said. "Selmeczi shouldn't be allowed to drive."

"Oh, come off it," replied another. "She's hardly the only one that's been doing stupid stuff recently."

"Yeah, but with the best will in the world, there's no way she can possibly have the physical strength to control a car at our kind of speeds. I'm not being sexist, it's just that women don't physically have that kind of muscle."

"There can always be exceptions, Pete, and she's done damned well up until now."

The third, Dan, interrupted. "I've got to agree with him, Davy. You know I've always thought Selmeczi deserved a break, but after today...."

"Oh, right, " snorted Davy. "What about Biarritza, then? Or Easton? Are you saying they're not good enough, either?"

"That's different," said Pete. "They were both proven drivers. Something must have gone wrong."

Davy threw up his hands. "I give up," he said.

"So what about all these accidents that are happening?" asked Chris. "Isn't it a little unusual?"

"You can say that again," said Davy. "I've never known anything like it; there's an accident almost every day. At the rate drivers and cars are being written off, there won't be anyone left to race at the end of the week."

Pete laughed, "That's where you're wrong," he said. "Haven't you noticed? All the accidents are happening to the top few teams." He listed them off, "Daggers, Arrows, Angels, Eagles and Sharks. Our smaller teams have been okay so far."

"Pete, are you hinting at sabotage?"

"I suppose I am." The man seemed surprised at his own observations. "But who?"

"What about the Tigers?" Davy said, "They're running joint third and haven't had any problems until today, and we all know that they were just unlucky with Johnson getting caught up in Selmeczi's mess."

"My god, that makes so much sense it's scary." Pete muttered.

"Maybe their turn hasn't come up yet," suggested Dan. "Oh, watch out, here comes Sonny,"

The table became quiet, as the man with a permanent scowl joined them. He sat down next to Chris and stared at him.

"You stole my ride," he told Chris with a familiar menacing undertone,

"I think you told me that already," said Chris, smiling coldly.

"That's right," Sonny nodded, only mild surprise showing in his eyes. "I've been the Arrows test driver for nearly eighteen months. I deserved that spot, worked my arse off for it. I've never even heard of you, you must have pulled some heavy duty strings to get in there."

Chris smiled and shrugged, "Just natural talent, I guess."

Sonny shook his head, "You're not that good," he stood up. "It stinks around here." With a huff, he headed over to the bar, though Chris could almost feel the glare that was aimed in his direction.

"Don't mind him," said Pete. "He's always miserable."

"He does have a point, though," Davy remarked suspiciously. "Where did you come from?"

"Daytona." Chris launched into his cover story. "I was doing some work over there when Jack saw me drive a little while ago and offered me a contract as a test driver. Came over here a couple of days ago to sort out the paperwork, and I guess I was just lucky."

"Sounds like Jack was planning to eject Sonny, if he had a place for you," remarked Pete.

Davy agreed, "I can't say as I could blame him, Sonny's a bit erratic to say the least."

"I don't think it was like that, " Chris protested. "As I understood it, Biarritza was about to leave. Retire or something."

The other drivers stared at him. "That's a new one," said Dan. "Biarritza was too obsessed with winning."

Pete snapped his fingers. "I bet the Daggers made him an offer."

"You think?" asked Davy. "They love Easton too much."

"True," said Pete. "But his performance has been on the decline recently, and they're not exactly known for being tolerant of failure."

"I suppose," Davy nodded slowly. "And I suppose they wouldn't put Selmeczi out there unless they were forced to."

"Who's who around here, anyway?" asked Chris. "I mean I can put names to faces and all that, but whose toes should I watch out for?"

The other drivers laughed. "There's only two men you need to watch out for," said Davy. "Your boss Jack Wilkinson, and the Daggers' manager Gil Milland."

"In what way?"

"Jack's a decent guy on the whole," Pete explained. "But he's obsessively secretive, not a bad thing in this game it has to be said, and he has a hell of temper. He fired the best mechanic he ever had a few weeks ago. And why? Just because the man used the telephone in Jack's office when he wasn't there. That's not normal."

"In your position, Chris," Davy said, "you don't want to be getting fired for something like that. No other team'll take you on. I don't mean it unkindly or anything, but you just don't have the experience."

"And Gil Milland?"

"Nasty piece of work that one," said Dan. "Holds a lot of influence with the powers that be in motor-racing. If you're in the least bit competitive with his driver, he'll go out of his way to discredit you. If you come out ahead of a Dagger, he'll try anything to get you disqualified."

"Oh, but Jack's just as bad when it comes to playing games," said Davy.

"No," disagreed Dan. "Jack retaliates. Gil's always the instigator. Remember that fiasco last year?"

"Oh, yeah," laughed Pete. "The Arrows were ahead. It was a one-stop race, and no one knows how he did it, but the holding ring on the fuel pump mysteriously disappeared, so the Arrows car spent ages getting filled up and lost a lot of time. The Daggers came in for their pit stop just a little later on, and you know what, when they changed the tyres, there was one missing. Poor Easton was stuck in the pit with three wheels while they hunted for the fourth."

"You know," said Davy, "I wouldn't put it past Gil to be sabotaging the other teams."

"You were pointing at the Tigers just a few minutes ago," said Pete.

"I know, I know," said Davy, "I'm just offering suggestions, is all."

"I think Jack's a bit of a dark horse myself," said Dan. "Under that Mr Nice-guy exterior, I think he's capable of sticking a few spanners in the works."

"But both Arrows and Daggers have had some pretty bad accidents," pointed out Chris. "You don't think it could be some of the drivers going a little crazy?"

All three drivers shook their heads, "Absolutely not," said Dan. "They're all good solid drivers."

"Except Selmeczi."

"Pete, lay off her already," Davy admonished.

"What if it's both Jack and Gil?" Pete wondered out loud. "One of them started it, and the others are getting payback."

"Either way, Chris," grinned Davy, "you'll have to be careful, or you could be next."

*****

At the other end of the bar, Sam was engaged in conversation with Dean Grey.

"I sometimes get frustrated with my own job," Grey was telling him morosely. "I can't blame any of the teams for getting frustrated with me."

"Why's that?" Sam asked, not really interested, but the man had cornered him and seemed grateful for someone to talk to. He seemed out of place, a pen-pusher amidst all these men, and the odd woman, of action. Even the team's PR and support staff all had that buzz of barely contained energy about them.

"Oh, you know, I have to check each and every little rule, making sure there are no infringements. Every one of those teams would cheat if they could. I feel like the headmaster of a borstal sometimes. They all resent it."

"I'm sure its one of those jobs that everyone hates as a matter of principal, not you personally," Sam tried to console him half-heartedly as he watched the mass of bodies around him.

"I wouldn't be sure about that, I know they all call me Little Hitler." Grey sighed into his pint. "And now, with all these accidents, the Committee is really putting the pressure on."

Sam was only half-listening as he observed Sonny Banks at the bar, intensely watching Chris with a scowl. He had seen the man talking to Chris a little earlier, and had resolved to ask his partner about him. For some reason, the man raised Sam's hackles.

When he had finished his pint, the man pushed roughly through the crowd and left the pub, leaving behind a trail of muttering people with spilled drinks.

*****

Later that evening, Sam and Chris went back to Sam's flat where Backup met them, armed with files and a laptop. Sitting around the coffee-table, with mugs of coffee, she filled them in on what she had found.

"We took a couple of blood samples from Selmeczi," she told them. "There were minute traces of DV8 in her system in the first sample. But in the second sample, taken an hour later, there was nothing. It obviously dissipates very quickly if left to its own devices."

"So the other drivers could well have been subject to it, even though nothing was found. Except Biarritza." clarified Sam.

"Biarritza died on impact, so he wouldn't have been able to metabolise it," Backup said, nodding. "But we still don't know how the drug is introduced. It's in liquid form, so it could be just about any way. When we examined Selmeczi, we couldn't find any sign of injection, and there were no markings mentioned in Biarritza's autopsy, so it must have been ingested somehow."

"Do you think the drivers took something voluntarily?" asked Sam.

Chris shook his head slowly, "I can't be sure, but I don't think so."

"I don't think so, either," agreed Backup "At least, I don't think Selmeczi did. She was completely shocked at what had happened. She denied taking anything, and I believe her. "

"What about the teams, did you find anything out?" asked Chris.

"All the drivers and test drivers are clean, historically, as are all the support staff. Aside from a lot of speeding tickets and parking fines, anyway. But there are two individuals who could be suspect. Jack Wilkinson has spent time in prison for fraud. I told Malone, and he checked with Wilkinson's bosses. They do know about it, but he's a damned good manager and they're keeping it quiet for fear of negative publicity."

"He's still worth looking into, I'd say," said Sam, "He could be after the money he'd get from selling the drug."

"Quite," agreed Backup. "The other one is Gil Milland. He's been as clean as a whistle these last five years, but before that, there's nothing to say he even existed. His birth certificate is a forgery. I've tried everything else. He turned up on the Daggers' doorstep five years ago and they took him on as a gopher. He's worked his way up from there."

"Looks like your work's cut out for you tomorrow, Sam," grinned Chris.

Sam smiled sarcastically, "And all you have to do is try and make sure you don't have any more accidents. Which reminds me. What was that all about in the pub with Banks?"

"Oh, he's just pissed off because I jumped the queue into the driver's seat."

"That explains the daggers he was giving you, then."

Chris squirmed slightly. "I could feel him staring at me. I don't think he's a threat though. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'd be feeling the same in his position."

"We should still keep an eye on him," Sam advised.

Backup stood up to leave. "The files are all yours," she said. "Your homework for tonight, boys, is to familiarise yourselves with all the personnel on the track."

"Yes Ma'am. " Chris gave her a mock salute.

*****

He was worried. Curtis was too observant, and Keel was fitting in just a little too easily.

Hopefully, the track politics would keep them occupied until after the race, because then, he would be home and dry.

But he needed to think of contingencies.

He also needed to duplicate the test on Selmeczi to be sure all would go well on the day of the race.

*****

The next day was busy at the track, preparing for the qualifying sessions that would be held the following day.

During a quiet moment, Sam asked Jack about his fraud sentence. The man visibly sagged in front of him. "I was waiting for you to find that out," he whispered. "I'm all above board, now," he added hastily." The company knows about it. It was a stupid mistake I made a few years ago. A wife who spent more than I made, you know how it goes. We're divorced now, thank god. It's not something I'm proud of, but I wish I could be more open about it. If the media found out, the company would be forced to fire me, and I love the job too much for that to happen. I get more paranoid each day." He cleared his throat. "I suppose I'm your top suspect now."

"One of," Sam nodded.

Jack nodded resignedly. "Feel free to search my office if you like." He fished out a set of keys. "Office, locker, trailer and car," he said. "Let me know if there's anything else."

Sam felt a twinge of guilt, but took the keys.

The CI5 agent knew he wouldn't find anything. If Wilkinson was guilty, he certainly wouldn't have surrendered the keys so easily if there was anything to be found. He went through the motions regardless, and as expected, turned up nothing.

When he was done, he went through to the Daggers' area, but Gil Milland was busy shouting at people in his office, so Sam retreated back to the Arrows area.

*****

Sonny Bank's snipes and jibes were wearing Chris down. It seemed he couldn't go anywhere without the man being somewhere around to throw mud in his face.

After a bad session, where he couldn't seem to get to grips with the car, Sonny was there, as always to point out all the mistakes he'd made, as loudly and caustically as possible.

Something in the way Chris threw his helmet across the floor and ripped off his protective balaclava told Sonny that he should make a strategic withdrawal.

He didn't go far, before Chris had him up against the wall. "Listen, you son of a bitch," Chris snarled into his ear. "I have had it with you. Now, you can do one of two things. Shut up and stay out of my face – I'm not gonna be around here for long – and you can have your drive. Or, you can keep going the way you are, and not only will I tell Jack you're an alcoholic, I'll also take great pleasure in ramming your helmet so far up – "

"Keel!" Sam's voice penetrated the angry haze that had settled over Chris' brain, and he let Banks go. "Wilkinson wants you."

Sonny scuttled away with terror in his eyes mixed with just a hint of bitter defiance.

"What was that all about?" Sam asked, watching Chris stare after Banks.

"Nothing," shrugged Chris. "Just felt like blowing off a little steam."

*****

The following day was the qualifying session, and the pit lane was humming with not only the team members, but also press and visitors.

Sam was amused to see Sonny Banks posing for the cameras in Chris' stead. But the media were not interested in the test driver, and moved rapidly on. Banks fingered Chris' helmet, sitting on the bench, and Sam missed the bitter glint in the other man's eye, his attention caught by raised voices in the corridor.

*****

Chris passed by the open door of the track inspector's office on his way back from the toilets. He backtracked slightly, and moved to lean on the door frame.

"I really have to go, Mr Grey," Selmeczi was saying between gritted teeth, trying to pull away from the man. "Milland was expecting me back five minutes ago."

"Gil Milland won't complain if he knows where you've been, I assure you." Dean Grey fluttered around Selmeczi, never actually touching her, but making it difficult for her to retire gracefully. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes, this one was Villeneuve's, Gilles, not Jacques..."

"Hey, Selmeczi," Chris called. "Milland's blowing steam looking for you."

Grey frowned at Chris. "Ms Selmeczi is enjoying a discussion with me on – "

"Keel!" Selmeczi spun toward Chris with the look of a drowning woman. "I'm glad you're here, I need to apologise to you for yesterday's fiasco."

Grey was unable to civilly prevent her escape, and his frown deepened as Selmeczi took Chris' arm in her own, leading him away from the office.

As soon as they were out of sight of the office, Selmeczi dropped Keel's arm. "Thank you, I would have punched him if he had gone on much longer about his helmet collection."

"My pleasure," Chris smiled. "It looked like a fate worse than death."

"Oh, it was!" Selmeczi smiled the first genuine smile Chris had seen, but Selmeczi quickly remembered herself. "I owe you one, but don't expect any nookie behind the bike sheds."

"Farthest thing from my mind."

A sly look came into her eyes. "You know, if you weren't in the game, you might be just a little bit attractive."

"Is that a compliment? Or are you setting me up for a fall."

Selmeczi opened her mouth to say something, but changed her mind, instead, she winked and turned away with a lick of her lips.

*****

Sam pressed himself against the wall as the raised voices became clear around the corner. He recognised one of them immediately as belonging to Jack Wilkinson, but took a moment to place the other as being that of Gil Milland.

"You'll regret messing with me," came Milland's accented voice. "I'll have you thrown out of the game so fast you won't know – "

"Come off it, Gil, I just thought that – " Jack protested.

"I don't care what you thought, Wilkinson, I know you're the one that's– "

"Well, you're wrong, Gil!" Jack called as the other man's footsteps faded away.

*****

A few minutes later, Sam was standing with Jack by the monitors. The Daggers' manager was in a foul mood, and it was getting worse by the second. Sam could see why. Chris' driving was becoming increasingly erratic.

Notably, so was Selmeczi's. But while Selmeczi was demonstrating the terminally fast recklessness she had in that first one on one race, Chris was all over the place; Sam had seen learner drivers fare better in their mini-metros.

Sonny Banks was watching, and wasted no time in pointing out Keel's hopeless driving skills to everyone and anyone who would listen.

*****

Chris had felt the first tentative itch before he had even left the pit lane. He had cursed the inconvenience of acquiring an itch under his jaw that he could not reach and tried to ignore it, concentrating on the track ahead.

But it had refused to be ignored and as persistent itches are wont to do, it demanded attention. It was soon joined by a dozen other itches scattered over his face, scalp and neck.

The more Chris tried to ignore them, the more persistent the itches became, multiplying and spreading until it seemed as though his skin was on fire. He focussed on the track ahead, becoming blurred through watering eyes. He felt the car lurch as he hit a curb too high, and struggled, blinking furiously, to stay on the track.

A violent sneeze erupted, followed by another and he cursed as he found that the car, sensitive to his touch, was slewing erratically over the track. A green car flashed by, fishtailing as it swerved to avoid him. With a sudden respect for drivers who raced with colds, Chris slowed, aiming only to get back to the pits in one piece.

*****

Sam was somewhat relieved when the black car wove its way to an untidy stop outside the garage.

Chris didn't even bother trying to get out of the car, throwing his gloves onto the tarmac. His hands were shaking so badly that he couldn't undo the strap on his helmet.

Sam knocked his partner's hands away, undoing the strap for him, concern evident on his face as he took in his partners blood-shot, watering eyes. Chris hauled the helmet off, throwing it out after the gloves, and ripped the balaclava off. Sam had to stop him from scratching at his face, which was red and swollen with livid rashes covering his neck.

"Bastard!" Chris yelled as he squirmed in his seat, rubbing his violently itching face against his shoulder, and trying to free his hands from Sam's iron grip.

"Calm down, Chris! The medic's on his way. And stop rubbing, you'll only make it worse."

"It can't get any worse! Don't tell me it can be worse, and let me have my hands back!"

Sam relented as the medic pushed through, and Chris immediately started clawing at his own face, trying to rid himself of his tormented skin.

*****

"Come on, Jack, you've got to let me drive, now!" Sonny pleaded.

Wilkinson simmered, "You've got a nerve, Banks." Sonny recoiled at the quiet anger in his employer's voice, "You're the only one around here that's infantile enough to put itching powder into Keel's balaclava. You're lucky he's all right and still got time to qualify, or I'd have you kicked off the team. Now get out of my sight."

Blinking back tears of frustration, Sonny stormed out of the garage.

*****

He was pleased with Selmeczi's test results. He could use her tomorrow. Under race conditions, the drug would make it's presence known to those who knew to watch for it.

*****

"There were traces of DV8 in Selmeczi's blood again today," Backup confirmed at the CI5 headquarters, "and on her balaclava. Actually, it's pretty easy to spot on the cream material; it turns yellow on contact with it."

"At least now we know what to look for," said Chris.

"Maybe," nodded Backup. "But who's putting it there, and how?"

Sam shook his head. "I just don't know," he sighed, "Wilkinson and Milland are at each others throats all the time. I think we should take a look around the Daggers' area tonight, Chris."

"After this morning's stunt, I'd love to pin the whole thing on Sonny Banks," muttered Chris, scratching at his neck.

"Well, why don't you take your mind off him and go talk to Selmeczi, this afternoon? She might have thought of something that would help," Sam laughed as Chris brightened considerably.

*****

Back at the track, Keel found Selmeczi staring out through the commentators' window.

When she heard his entrance she turned aggressively, but relaxed slightly when she saw it was Keel.

"How are you doing?" he asked softly.

"I don't know, Keel," Selmeczi sighed. "That's twice, now. What if it happens again?"

Keel considered her for a moment, then said, "I heard it was drugs."

"Oh, and you think I've been taking drugs?" She was near tears. "Typical!"

"No," Chris said slowly. "I think someone's using you as a guinea pig."

"You – you're one of them, aren't you? Miss Backus said the same thing to me." Chris didn't answer her, and she took that as an affirmative. "But how can I make sure it doesn't happen again?"

"Check your balaclava. We don't know for sure that's how they do it, but it's one possibility. Any funny marks or stains, and don't use it."

"Yeah, okay. Hey, I'm sorry about Sonny's trick this morning," Selmeczi smiled.

"You knew?"

Selmeczi shook her head. "He did the same thing to me a couple of years ago, when I won the Daggers' test spot. When he's not being a child, he's actually a really nice guy."

"I'll take your word for that."

*****

That night, Sam and Chris broke into Gil Milland's office. There was nothing out of the ordinary there, so they tried his locker, then the company trailer. The only thing they found of any interest was a passport in the name of Alexis Drijka with Milland's photograph.

They were coming out of the trailer when a light blinded them.

"Oh, it's you," said a familiar voice, and the torch was lowered. Dean Grey frowned at them. "I should report this, you know." he said, "But all things considered, you could just try and not let me catch you in future."

"We'll try," said Sam. "What are you still doing here? It's nearly midnight."

"Commitment to the job," Grey sighed. "When this lot go home, my job's barely begun. Inspections and paperwork, it never ends."

*****

They were getting too close. He had to get rid of them. He decided to give the yank a real taste of the hunger to win. And while he was out on the track, he would take out his partner.

He had perfected the dose for Selmeczi; he would use her for demonstration purposes.

************

Sam dropped the passport off at the CI5 offices while Chris went straight to the track. Today was race day.

The morning passed uneventfully for both of them, but at lunchtime, Sam went to see if he could find Gil Milland. He found him by the coffee machine, and was about to approach him when he saw the man do something very strange.

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small glass vial and carefully put a tiny drop of the clear liquid into the plastic cup. He stirred it thoroughly and took it into the garage and Sam saw him hand it to Selmeczi.

Sam moved forward to intercept the drink before she had any, but someone drew her attention away, and she put it on the side. Sam took the drink up and collared Milland.

"CI5," he said quietly, "I think we should go somewhere quieter, don't you?"

Milland looked shaken but allowed Sam to lead him into his office. He called Backup to come and pick him up.

"So where's the rest of it?" asked Sam.

"What?" The guilt on Milland's face turned to confusion. "The rest of what?"

Sam took the vial from Milland's pocket and waved it in front of the man's face. "This," he said simply.

"Ah, that's mint flavouring," offered Milland cautiously. "Michaela always has mint tea before she drives."

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" scoffed Sam, thinking about the lack of personal facilities in the car.

"It's true," the man said, wonderingly.

Backup arrived at that point and Sam gave her the vial and the tea.

"I'm going to stick around, until we know for sure," Sam told her, and Backup agreed as she took Milland away.

Sam got a plain tea from the machine and went to find Selmeczi. "Sorry, no mint today," he told her.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped at him. "Don't you know it's not good form to spy on other teams when everyone can see you?"

"Sorry," he said, "I just had to give Gil some bad news, so I thought I'd bring the tea in for you."

"But it was already here, it was on the – " she looked at the empty bench, "It's gone, and where's my helmet?"

"Here, " Dean Grey handed it to her. "Good luck," he offered with a smile.

Selmeczi ignored the tea, and put her helmet on, stalking over to her car.

"Don't worry," he said to Sam. "She's a sour bitch sometimes. Are you heading back to Arrows? I'll come with you." He stopped to throw something in the bin, and followed Sam out, chattering inanely.

*****

In the Arrows' garage, Grey picked up Chris' helmet. "I collect these things, you know."

"Really," said Sam, feigning interest. "What's so special about them?"

"Every driver has individual colours. The helmet is theirs, not the team's. I have twenty-six helmets so far, eight are from Formula 1 drivers," he said proudly.

"I'm impressed," replied Sam, and spotting Chris, excused himself.

"What's up?" asked Chris, doing up his flame-proof overalls.

"Backup's taken Milland out. I saw him dose Selmeczi's drink."

"Awww," Chris looked over at the car, disappointed.

"Don't worry, you can still drive, at least until Backup confirms that Milland's our man," Sam laughed as Chris brightened up considerably. Grey came over and handed Chris his helmet. "Good luck," he said, and Chris nodded as he put it on. Sam clapped him on the shoulder.

He watched Chris climb into his car, then turned around to see Grey drop something in the bin. Something small and glistening. Grey left the garage, and Sam carefully pushed aside scraps of paper and an oily rag, to find an empty glass capsule.

He looked over at Chris, but the car had already left the garage. He ran over to Jack by the monitors. "Bring him back in!" he told him. "Get Selmeczi back in too, I think they've both been drugged!"

"But I can't! The race has just started!" He left Jack stammering objections, and hoped that the man would do something. In the meantime, he had to get after Grey.

His phone rang and he answered it on the run. Backup told him that Gil Milland was in fact an illegal immigrant, a minor dissenter from Romania. The bad news was that the liquid in the vial really was mint flavouring.

"I know," said Sam. "I think it's Dean Grey. We've all been so busy with the teams and managers we didn't even think about him. Stupid!"

He hung up as he approached Grey's office. It was empty. He searched through the office, and found, in the man's briefcase, a clear plastic box crammed full of glass capsules. Next to it was a large vial. In Greys handwriting was a crude label, marking it as 'Anti'.

Checking the pockets of the case, Sam also found photocopies of Drijka's passport and Wilkinson's police records.

He heard the scraping of footsteps behind him and spun to see Grey standing with a cloth and another empty capsule.

Grey smiled evilly, and leapt, trying to push the cloth into Sam's face. Sam ducked and punched the man in the stomach, doubling him over. He took the opportunity to throw the cloth out the door. Grey head-butted him in the stomach, sending both of them to the floor. Grey used Sam's hair to bang his head into the hard ground, and the CI5 man saw stars.

He brought his knee up sharply and Grey went limp for a moment, allowing Sam to roll him off, but attacked again. Sam saw an opening, and threw a punch at the man's jaw.

Grey slumped to the floor, stunned long enough for Sam to tie him up. He called Backup.

Jack burst in the door. "We've got a problem!" he panted. "Keel and Selmeczi are both driving like maniacs. They won't come back in. The Marshals have cleared the track, everyone else is in the pits, but those two are going at it like nutters."

Grey laughed. "Remember Biarritza? I overdosed him by mistake. The two out there now? Well, let's say your American friend won't be coming back in one piece. You've got me now, but at least one of them are going down, too!

*****

The adrenaline was running through his veins like never before, the hunger to win becoming his entire being. Chris pushed the car to its limit, riding the kerbs and squeezing through gaps he might never otherwise have attempted. He cut through the traffic as a knife through butter, uncompromising in his determination to win. He saw the red flags, but their meaning was lost in the haze of adrenaline. He didn't even notice the dissipation of the rest of the field.

Eventually, he found himself behind the race leader. And the world narrowed, to just him, the crimson car, and the chequered flag that would show itself in just a few laps.

The red car skilfully blocked him, refusing to allow him the slightest edge that might have given him an opportunity. He edged closer to the rear wing. He would get past the red car if was the last thing he did.

A sudden jolt and he was fishtailing down the track. Unconcerned with what had caused the jolt, he quickly regained control and took the other opportunity that the other car's wild weaving offered.

But the other driver was as skilled, and as determined, and moved to block him before he could get his nose cone through. No! He screamed in his mind, and floored the accelerator. The red car matched him, and side by side they headed toward the hairpin, neither willing to brake first.

He edged his car just a little closer to the red one, and a jolt told him contact had been made. In his mirror, the red car spun off the track. Euphoric as the red car retreated, Chris did not have time to register the sharp curve before he hit the kerb, then the grass beyond and spun violently, only to be stopped with a resounding crunch by the Armco.

He screamed his rage, before all hell broke loose.

Hands reached in to the cockpit. One detached the wheel with a flick, while others undid the straps, and yet others dragged him from the car. He fought each and every one of them, screaming incoherently, but with little room for movement, he had little effect. The men who dragged him out of the vehicle pressed tightly against him, allowing him little movement, and wrestled him to the ground.

Still twisting and squirming, anger searing through him, he felt them loosen his suit, pulling the back down, trapping his arms. He did not feel the pinprick in his arm, only the soothing cool river that washed slowly over him, quelling the anger, and dulling his senses.

Slowly he relaxed against the tarmac, and the bodies around him moved away, satisfied that their work was done.

*****

Sam pushed his way through the crowd, with no cars on the track, he was allowed through. Chris lay dazed on the ground, his arms still pinned by his suit.

Sam lifted his friend's shoulders up, and pulled the jacket back up, then supported his head, worried by Chris' pale, sweating features and glazed eyes.

A medic crouched next to him, monitoring Chris' pulse, and Sam raised an eyebrow.

"He'll be fine once his heart stops racing; he's calming down even now. We'll take him in for obs, as well as the other driver. But they'll be fine." The medic studied Sam. "You should come too, you look like you've been in the wars.

"Sam?" Chris croaked, "Did I win?"

Sam laughed. "Of course you did mate, as if there was ever any doubt."

*****

When Sonny Banks climbed out of his car in the winner's paddock, the first person he hugged was Chris Keel.

"I love you, man!" he shouted through his helmet.

"Well, done!" Selmeczi said loudly, "Enjoy it! I'll be in the race next time so you'd better get used to watching my arse!"

"I do that already, sweetheart!" Sonny laughed as he was hustled away.

"Is that the same guy?" Chris asked incredulously.

"I told you, he's a sweetie, really," Selmeczi said, then asked. "So, Chris, you up for dinner, tonight?"

"I thought all men were bastards?"

"They are!" she grinned, "But you're not in the game anymore so you don't count."

"Thanks, I think. Pick you up at seven?"

She shook her head, "I've got a Ferrari – I'll pick you up."

"Looking forward to it!" he waved her goodbye, eyes gleaming. "So, what were you saying about charm?" he asked Sam.

"She doesn't count," Sam told him, "She's in the game."

The End

 


End file.
